


Aftershock

by Eccaia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: As in early S1, Basically I felt like torturing the poor guy, Gen, Season 1, house fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 03:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13871952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eccaia/pseuds/Eccaia
Summary: Barely a month after his girlfriend burned before his eyes, Sam finds himself in the midst of yet another house fire. One less paranormal in nature, but equally dangerous. Sam must put aside his own fears if he is to get everyone out alive.





	Aftershock

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING, PLEASE READ IF THERE'S EVEN A CHANCE YOU MAY BE AFFECTED.
> 
> I have described what little I know of a panic attack in this fic. I'd like to make it clear that I have never experienced one for myself, and have based my writing solely on websites I have read and that which I've heard from those who have. If this bothers anyone, if I have described it badly, if I am unknowingly belittling real panic attacks, please, I beg of you, TELL ME. I will do my utmost to tweak it, change it entirely, scrap it, take the work down, whatever you suggest. I don't care. If it hurts anyone in any way, I want it gone. Well, anyone except Sam, I suppose.
> 
> Otherwise, I hope you enjoy poor Sammy's suffering!

Sam yawned into his palm, tuning out the god-awful noise from beside him. He couldn't call it singing, though the idea may have been similar.  
Dean often sang along to his favourite tracks, and Sam often ignored him. Today's pick was _Smoke on the Water_ , which this quiet residential street would surely appreciate.  
Sam stared up at the houses as they passed; boring brick walls and neatly mowed lawns as far as the eye could see. The orange glow of the street lights reflected off cars parked at the roadside and smothered the stars, though he could still make out a few of the more determined ones.  
Sam started as Dean roughly elbowed his arm. 'What?!'  
Dean smiled a toothy grin. 'Quit daydreaming!' he said. 'Come on, you know the words!'  
Sam shook his head as Dean proceeded to murder the chorus. He was glad his brother could enjoy the post-hunt high, but didn't have the energy to join in. All he wanted was to curl up in his lumpy motel bed and sleep until noon.  
Sam had caught little rest all week, despite his best efforts. Every time he fell asleep, the nightmares would jolt him awake again. It was always the same one: two blonde women pinned to the ceiling side-by-side, wreathed in flame, their nightgowns stained with blood. One was Jessica, who Sam had been planning to propose to less than a month ago, and the other his mom, whom he knew only through old photos. Yellow eyes leered at him from every flickering shadow. Always watching, always out of reach.  
Dean's racket seemed to grow louder, if it were possible. He liked this verse. Sam reminded himself he only had half the song left to endure.  
As he watched house after house roll by, a flash in a first floor window caught his attention. A shifting orange light illuminated part of a kitchen.  
'Dean,' Sam said, his eyes glued to the window, 'pull over a minute. You see that?'  
Dean turned the music down and pulled over on the side of the road, following Sam's gaze. 'See what? Where am I looking?'  
Sam pointed to the window, where a flickering tongue of fire darted in and out of view. Dark smoke trickled through the window and curled toward the sky.  
'I don't think that's controlled,' Sam said, already climbing out of the car. He heard Dean call his name as he pelted for the front door, but did not look back. He had to get to the house.  
Without pausing to think, Sam rammed the door open with his shoulder, stumbling into a wave of heat and smoke. Covering his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket, he called out to find anyone nearby.  
Through a doorway on his right he saw the burning kitchen, and under the window was what looked like a washing machine, sparking and popping. The cupboards above and around it had also caught light, the wooden doors creating a path for the fire to spread.  
Terror built in Sam's chest, knotting tighter and tighter until he struggled to breathe. Or was it the smoke? He couldn't tell.  
His call had gone unanswered. Sam scanned the empty living area on his left and jogged further into the house.  
A steep flight of stairs led up to a wide landing, and past them was the open door of an empty study. Sam raced up the stairs, blind to the beads of sweat beginning to drip down his face.  
There were three doors on his right, all closed. A man appeared in the only doorway on his left, clutching a little boy in his arms. He stared at Sam through eyes wide with terror.  
Sam knew he must look much the same, but they didn't have time to hesitate. 'Is there anyone else in the house?' he demanded, ignoring the sting in his throat.  
'My daughter,' the man croaked, starting toward the other three doors.  
'I've got her,' Sam said, running the two strides to the nearest door. 'Just get the kid out!'  
He heard footsteps descending the stairs as he shoved the door open. A bathroom, empty.  
The next opened into a plume of smoke and intensified heat.  
Coughing into his sleeve, Sam waved the smoke away to reveal a bedroom. A teenage girl crouched by the bed on all fours, choking and struggling to move.  
Sam grabbed her by the elbow and hauled her to her feet. 'I gotcha,' he said, steadying her until she found her balance. 'Come on, we gotta move.'  
The girl nodded, but as soon as Sam released her she doubled over into another coughing fit.  
Sam cursed. They didn't have time for this. Ducking down, he took the girl's arm and draped it over his shoulders, sliding his free hand around her back.  
Together they half staggered, half slid down the stairs, Sam's eyes watering and the girl choking on his shoulder.  
As they reached the bottom, a fireman in full reflective uniform barged in through the front door and ushered them out, asking after anyone else in the house.  
Sam shook his head.  
The fireman took the girl from him and guided her to the truck on the curb, while two more men ran into the house.  
Sam knew he should follow them to the truck, but his legs weren't responding. The blinding urgency in his veins evaporated, but the knot in his chest refused to loosen. His whole body trembled. He could still see the flames, even with his back to the burning house.  
The rational part of his mind knew he was safe; the fire was behind him, everyone was okay, he could leave it to the professionals. The rest wasn't listening.  
Fire. Heat. Smoke. A woman on the ceiling.  
The scene played on a loop before his eyes, refusing to move on or go away. Sam sank to his knees, shaking his head. His pounding heart thumped out of rhythm.  
'Sammy? Sam!'  
Dean's voice cut through the uproar in his head. He had come to save him, to drag him out of the fire, like he had before!  
'Hey, what happened? Are you okay?'  
Firm hands took hold of Sam's shoulders. His own lashed out to shove them off. Why did he do that? Sam stared wildly through the flames, searching for his brother, but could not find him. Where was he? Why wasn't he here?  
'Sammy, talk to me!' Dean's voice pleaded.  
He wanted to, but his body wasn't cooperating. What if he never regained control?  
_Fire._  
 _Heat._  
After what felt like an age, Sam snapped back to reality as though someone had flicked a switch in his brain. Bright flames turned to trampled grass and part of someone's knee. The stink of smoke remained, but much fainter, and his eyes and throat stung. Cold sweat stuck his shirt to his back and dripped down his forehead.  
Sam lifted his head, but the movement felt sluggish, almost as though he were drunk. Dean knelt in front of him, looking much calmer than he'd sounded, but Sam could still see the worry in his eyes.  
'Hey, Sammy,' Dean said, offering a strained but reassuring smile. It didn't help. 'You good? You with me now?'  
Sam didn't think 'good' was the right word, but nodded anyway. 'Yeah,' he rasped. 'Think so.'  
Dean's shoulders slumped with relief. 'Don't ever do that again,' he scolded. He twisted to pick up a bottle of water from the ground beside him, and held it out to Sam. 'Here, drink up.'  
Sam took the bottle and gulped it down. The cool liquid soothed his throat, and rapidly began to revive him.  
'What happened?' he asked after almost emptying the bottle. 'I got out here and just... shut down.'  
He didn't expect Dean to have an answer, but somehow he did. 'Tanya - that girl you dragged out of the house? She reckons you had a panic attack. She said she gets them as well, and it's something to do with a trigger.' Dean scratched his head. 'I don't know, I wasn't really listening.'  
Sam frowned, considering. He'd never had a panic attack before, but he'd been only a baby when his mother died, and had learned to adjust fast to things that would drive most to insanity. He could only hope it wouldn't happen again.  
Ignoring the shiver rippling down his spine, Sam rolled onto his hands and knees to try to stand up. It sounded like the girl was okay, but what about the kid?  
Dean saw what he was doing and jumped up first, holding out a hand to help him. Sam accepted and allowed Dean to pull him to his feet, wincing at a sharp ache in his ankles. They were stiff and sore; he must have been on the ground for a while.  
Finding his balance, Sam stood on one foot to stretch each ankle in turn. Dean watched him with an odd expression.  
'What?' Sam placed his foot back on the ground. What else could have gone wrong?  
Dean slipped his hands into his pockets. 'Nothing,' he said, averting his eyes. 'C'mon, you should let the kid know you're okay.'  
Sam knew he was lying. It wasn't hard to see, but all at once it struck him how badly the series of events must have affected Dean. He had been four when their mom died, and Sam knew he still remembered the fire.  
'Hey!' Dean stood on the curb, waiting for him to follow. 'You coming or what?'  
'Yeah.' Sam willed his legs into motion, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow as if expecting a monster to leap out from behind a parked car.  
Dean waited for him to catch up, watching his every move. As soon as he was close enough, Sam gave up the pretense and wrapped his arms tight around his brother.  
After a moment of surprise, Dean reached up and pulled him down, balling his fists in Sam's jacket.  
Sam let his eyes slide shut. He was safe. This was safety. Now if only his heart would stop threatening to punch a hole in his chest.  
Dean broke away too soon for Sam's liking. 'Come on,' he said, nodding toward the road.  
Dean stepped out onto the tarmac, and Sam followed a pace behind, slipping the empty water bottle into his jacket pocket.  
Firemen were still working hard to put out the blaze, though they seemed to have it under control. Sam tried not to look.  
A small crowd of nosy neighbours had gathered in the street, and were being held at bay by police officers.  
The man Sam had seen in the house sat on the opposite curb, with his son on his lap and his daughter beside. They stood up as the two brothers approached.  
'Thank you,' the man said, extending his free hand for Sam to shake. 'I don't want to think about what could have happened.'  
'Don't,' Sam agreed, taking his hand. 'I'm glad you're all okay.'  
'What about you?' the girl asked in a small, rasping voice. 'Panic attacks are the worst.' She hesitated, then added, 'Your friend was really worried about you.'  
'Brother,' Sam corrected, hoping to dodge the question. 'Dean's my brother.'  
'Unfortunately,' Dean added, clapping him on the shoulder.  
Sam rolled his eyes, too drained to retort. 'Do you guys have a place to stay?' he asked the father. 'If not, we could get you a motel room for the night.'  
Dean glanced sharply at him, but the man spoke first. 'That's very kind of you,' he said, 'but I already called my sister-in-law. She lives nearby and she says she's got space for us.'  
'Good.' Dean nodded and slipped his hand into his pocket. 'Well in that case, we should hit the road. I did wanna get some sleep tonight.'  
'Yeah,' Sam scoffed, 'you need your beauty sleep.' He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he was relieved Dean had taken charge.  
'Wait,' Tanya said, peering up at Sam before he could move. 'Can I hug you? You did save my life.'  
Sam mustered up a smile and nodded. Tanya's hug was much gentler than Dean's, and she still smelled of smoke. The knot in Sam's chest tightened, but he squashed it down.  
'Look after yourself, okay?' Tanya whispered in his ear. 'Maybe let your brother run into the fire next time.'  
Sam knew it wouldn't be so simple. He had acted on instinct and run into the house without a second thought, either for himself or those around him. Dean would probably lock him in the Impala next time, rather than risk him doing it again.  
'Hopefully he won't have to,' Sam said as he let Tanya go.  
The two brothers said goodbye, and headed for the Impala still crouched at the roadside.  
Once they were well out of earshot, Dean tipped his head toward Sam. 'You wanna crash in the back, or d'you think you can stay awake till we get back to the motel?' he asked. 'You look dead on your feet.'  
'I'm fine, Dean,' Sam sighed, pulling open the passenger door. 'Let's just go.'  
'Alright,' Dean said as he rounded the other side of the car, 'but I'm not holding you up if you knock out on me.'  
Sam took one last look at the smoking house while Dean climbed into the car. As he watched, several firemen appeared in the doorway, their visors lifted.  
Tanya, standing on her own while her father left to speak to one of the firemen, gave him a small wave. Sam lifted a hand in farewell and folded himself into the car.  
Dean started the engine and pulled away from the curb. The last part of _Smoke on the Water_ was immediately skipped.    

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed that! I feel kinda bad for torturing the poor guy, but oh well. It was fun.  
> So, the real stuff. The panic attack. I'd like to make it clear that I have never experienced one for myself, and have based my writing solely on websites I have read and that which I've heard from those who have. If this bothers anyone, if I have described it badly, if I am unknowingly belittling real panic attacks, please, I beg of you, TELL ME. I will do my utmost to tweak it, change it entirely, scrap it, take the work down, whatever you suggest. I don't care. If it hurts anyone in any way, I want it gone. Well, anyone except Sam, I suppose.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
